I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.

The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark; but you are supposed to go through them.

There are no happy endings, only breaks in the regular action.

I’m not the Hana everyone told me I would be after my cure.

Holy mother of Lord Cocoa Puffs

Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had a biting coolness--but by the last week of school everything is Technicolor and splash, outrageous blue skies and purple thunderstorms and ink-black night skies and red flowers as brights as spots of blood.

No guy in his right mind would ever choose me when there are people like Hana in the world: It would be like settling for a stale cookie when what you really want is a big bowl of ice cream, whipped cream and cherries and chocolate sprinkles included.